


Mess

by SlippinMickeys



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, MSR, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:30:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlippinMickeys/pseuds/SlippinMickeys
Summary: This is from a Tumblr Prompt “I need a place to stay.”





	Mess

“Mulder, are you okay?”

She had picked up on the fifth ring. It was late. They’d only flown into DC 90 minutes ago after a particularly exhausting case in upper Washington that had lasted over a week and a half. She was jet-lagged, cranky, in dire need of a bath. 

She had sighed heavily into the receiver before she’d said anything, and he had clearly heard it. He hesitated before talking. 

“... never mind, Scully, I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No!” She said quickly, apologetically, “no. I’m sorry. You know we just got in. I’m tired. What’s going on Mulder?”

There was another brief pause before he spoke.

“Well,” he finally said, “I showed up at my apartment, and the whole damn building is tented. Some kind of fumigation. They must have given notice when we were out West. I know it’s an imposition, but… I need a place to stay.”

She exhaled a breath. She thought of Mulder riding her couch for a few days, banging around her kitchen, leaving the toilet seat up. Ties left over the back of the sofa, socks balled up in the middle of the floor. 

It was a Friday night, which meant instead of carpooling to the office and a couple days more or less as average as any other, she’d spend the weekend with extra dishes in her sink, and him hogging the Sunday crossword. 

“Of course,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, “it’s no imposition. Come on over.” 

She looked longingly at the bath she’d just filled up. She could probably get a 30 minute soak in before he got there. 

“The thing is,” he said sheepishly, “I hesitated calling you. I’m… I’m already here.” 

She heard a light knocking at her front door. 

She closed her eyes, pulled her robe tighter around herself and headed for the entryway. 

She swung the door open and there Mulder stood, his suit rumpled and limp, wearing a hangdog expression and carrying his beat-up suitcase.

“I have zero clean clothes,” he said by way of greeting and rolled passed her and into her kitchen, taking position next to the sink. “I’m apologizing in advance.”

“You’re not planning on sashaying around here in the buff are you?” 

He rubbed a hand over his face, his five o’clock shadow scraping through the air, a sound that she felt rather than heard. 

“I realize that’s my cue to make an inappropriate joke, but I’m too tired.”

“Let me get you a pillow,” she said and made her way to the hallway linen closet. When she returned, he was pulling his Dopp kit out of his suitcase. He raised it up and inclined his head toward her bathroom. 

“Do you mind?”

She made a “help yourself” gesture with her hands and set about gathering blankets and sheets. He emerged from the bathroom a moment later, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, toothpaste in a froth around his lips. He leveled a look at her. 

“Oo ‘ere bout to tak a baff,” he said, his eyes hooded with regret. 

She crossed her arms, unwilling to let him feel bad. 

“And I still plan to.”

He stood there a moment and then took the toothbrush out of his mouth. 

“I promise I won’t make a mess,” he said, and before she could say a word, he turned on his heel and walked back into the bathroom.

She was tucking a sheet into the sofa cushions when he reemerged, smelling of mint and the clinging sourness of clothes that had been worn too long.

“You don’t have to go to this kind of trouble,” he said, coming up behind her.

“It’s no trouble, Mulder,” she said, straightening and giving the sofa a dubious look. It was more of a loveseat that a proper couch. He wouldn’t fit on it if he tried to straighten his legs.

“Are you going to sleep okay on this?” she asked him skeptically.

He ran a hand lightly down her arm. She had to stop herself from leaning into his touch.

“Hey, I’ve been training for this for years,” he said gently. “Go take your bath, I’ve got it from here.”

She yawned and blinked at him, then nodded, backing away slowly towards her bathroom.

The water had turned tepid. She turned the handle all the way to hot and leaned against the porcelain of the sink as the tub filled, taking in the second toothbrush in her holder, his comb resting next to her brush. 

In the sway of her life, he was ever present; taking up all the space in the room and breathing too loud. He was bossy and condescending and left trails of sunflower seeds wherever he went. She’d found them in her car, in her desk. Once, she found them in her pocket. He was placating and pushy and he was all she ever wanted. 

She left the water running and walked out into the living room. Mulder was standing in a grubby undershirt and boxers, placing clothes carefully into his suitcase. He looked up at her in surprise, expectancy. 

“I like your mess,” she said. 

He cocked his head slightly to the side and looked at her, searching. 

“I like your mess,” she said again, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  
  



End file.
